Timetalia — Memory Lane
by Aialize
Summary: Something happened. They didn't exactly know why or how but they knew something happened. Italy Veneziano finds himself in a forest with his brother, with no memories of how they got there and why. What's worse? Well, the fact that there's like a mini-England that's threatening to shoot them with an arrow.
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA.**

 **Warnings: Historical inaccuracies, cursing, gratitious foreign languages, and hints of violence. (because history is violent)**

 **NOTE PLEASE READ:** If you look at the reviews, you'd see that someone has been spamming this story (as well as my other stories). PLEASE IGNORE THEM. DONT FEED THE TROLLS

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 **Timetalia — Memory Lane**

 **Prologue**

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 _One. Two. Click._

A whoosh sounded and eight were left.

 _Three. Four. Click._

"Time is ticking, hurry, hurry." Such were words said. Six were left.

 _Five. Six. Click._

Six were gone and four were left. Footsteps were heard and caused hurried actions as a result.

 _Seven. Eight. Click._

"Hurry, hurry, they'll come. Failure is not an option." Then the last two had been grabbed —

 _Nine. Ten. Click._

"Go, go."

 _ **Crash**_

Ten were gone, and there's no way back.

"What are you doing?!"

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 **A/N:** This is very short and vague, I know. Anyway, **the chapters will be at least 1500 words** long. The prologue and the interludes will be the only short chapters. And also, there will be **NO PAIRINGS** here. There may be hints of what may seem like a pairing but mostly I'm going for platonic or familial relationships.

Also: **SLOW UPDATES**


	2. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA**

 **Warnings: Historical inaccuracies, Italy's bad attention span, gratitious Italian, cursing courtesy of Romano**

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 **Timetalia — Memory Lane**

 **Chapter 1**

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Darkness. Shadows swam across his vision, forming odd shapes. Yet, his whole sight was still black – although there were a few splotches of uneven colors that couldn't be seen unless observed carefully. He felt his eyes hurt and gave slow attempts of opening them, groans escaping his lips. He tried to extend his senses as he kept trying to open his eyes. A hard, rough texture seemed to be rubbing against his back and he seemed to be sitting down on ground – earth. Yes, it did fit the forest-y scent he smelled. Someone was also breathing beside him but he couldn't tell who. They were in a forest, that's all he knew but… how and why were they in a forest?

Light now slowly entered his eyes as he succeeded in opening them. He saw a flash of bright blue skies and green and therefore, thought to himself that he was correct. He was indeed in a forest, he guessed, even though his sight was still blurry. A yawn escaped his lips before he completely opened his eyes – an act that would scare the hell out of his fellow Nations. They would probably ask what he ate or drank, or if he got enough sleep. It was funny, really, how just a simple break from their usual stereotypes can cause chaos.

His eyes still couldn't process the image the colors of green, blue and silver formed because of the watery tears that came out of his eyes as he yawned. Blinking multiple times, he stretched his arms wide out. He heard an odd _twang_ sound but ignored it – it's probably just nature. Italy Veneziano then did a final closing of his eyes before opening it wide open to greet the beautiful forest.

But instead of a beautiful forest scenery, what was greeting him was the metallic tip of an arrow.

Italy Veneziano closed his eyes once more, screamed, and went into a kneeling position. An enemy was there to kill him! The feeling of the grass and the ground as well as the smell of the woods now felt terrifyingly unknown. He felt tears gather in his eyes as he sent out rapid pleas for mercy, in Italian.

"Aaah! Please don't kill me, I'm too young to die! I'm really too young to die! I'm still a virgin and I haven't even had my first time and I still haven't eaten pasta! Oh my, please at least let me eat pasta before I die – not that I want to die! I have relatives over your place – wherever it is! So please – "

"Oh gods, can you clamp down your mouth!?" a young, almost squeaky voice yelled. He hadn't even reached a quarter of his pleas yet! Oh no, his enemy was merciless! Mamma mia! Italy prepared to run but then he remembered the tip of the arrow that was directed right at his face.

Where was Germany? Or Japan? They would've saved him right here and now. Italy then froze as something entered his mind. Maybe… maybe Germany and Japan didn't want to save him. No! No! Italy shook his head. Germany and Japan were his friends. He shouldn't doubt them. Maybe they were just busy or maybe they couldn't find the place – yeah, that was right! Italy couldn't tell where he was and his connection to his place was also weak for some reason so maybe he was somewhere far away like Asia! But then Asia is in Japan's place… Italy shook his head harder.

The boy's voice entered his ears again. "Oi! I did tell you to keep quiet but I did not tell you to silence yourself." He sounded really annoyed, like he wanted to shoot Italy right now and there.

But, even so, that wasn't what got Italy's notice. Even the groan sounding from beside him was not noticed.

"Eh?" Italy stopped and stared – with eyes that looked like they were closed, mind you – at the young boy holding the bow. "You speak Italian?"

Maybe he was in Italy, or at least Europe, if people are speaking Italian. But he couldn't remember a place where there are little kids in green cloaks pointing arrows and shouting at poor Italian men who haven't eaten any pasta! Italy tried to think of countries with such habits but couldn't get any ideas. Besides, the boy seemed a little too old-fashioned for this time and age. Italy mentally gasped – maybe he was in an uncharted island! Ooh, new discovery! Maybe it was like World War II again, with him stranded on an island.

But this time he was alone…

The boy snorted, still pointing his bow at him. That gathered Italy's wandering attention. He sounded annoyed, just like how England reacts when it comes to America's ideas. Italy honestly couldn't see the beauty in having a McDonald's space restaurant. Wouldn't an Italian restaurant that serves any kind of pasta be better? Or maybe an art museum!

Italy blinked – if it could be considered one. He had to focus on his current dilemma. The boy seemed to be saying something to him. He then stared once more at the young boy. Italy couldn't see the boy's expression as it was hidden by the green hood of his cloak. All he could tell was that the boy seemed European and he could speak good Italian. He wasn't Italian though because he would've known if he was his citizen. Ooh, maybe he's from Romano's place!

But even then, he should've felt a small prick of familiarity because he is Italy… the northern part, yes, but still the same Italy…

As if noticing his wavering – if not, missing – attention, the boy muttered under his breath, "Your attention sure likes to wander around." Italy could feel the boy roll his eyes. "Let me repeat, as you seem to not listen at all. I had asked about Italian. What is that? I have never heard of a language called Italian. And I am not – "

But before the boy could continue or Italy could reply (read: interrupt in defense of his language), a very familiar voice shouted, "Oi! What do you think you're doing to my _fratellino_ , you brat!"

The two looked at the interruptor. Dark brown hair with a curl extending from the right side of his head, hazel-colored eyes, tanned skin and a perpetual scowl on his face, it was his _fratello_ , Italy Romano, alright. Italy even further questioned himself where they were and how they got there. All he could pull up were blank, black memories. Well, at least he wasn't alone now and he had his _fratello_ with him!

"Brat?!" The young boy sounded offended. "I am Albion, and this is my land! You are the trespassers here! Now I ask, who are you and what are you doing in my land? Answer me now or I will shoot him!"

The tip of the arrow touched Italy's forehead, drawing a little blood. Italy Veneziano stopped any movement of his body, terrified for his life. Cold shivers crawled all over his spine and he felt like his heartbeat was even faster than the flaps of a hummingbird's wings. The red drop fell slowly down the bridge of his nose and to his lips, causing Italy to stare at the young boy, fearing that he was serious.

Romano threw his hands up in the air. "Gah! How should I know what the fuck we're doing here!? If you didn't notice, we were asleep! I don't even know why we're here in a goddamn forest! And remove that godforsaken arrow from my brother's face or I will make you pay!"

Italy felt the arrow slacken and the boy stepped back a few steps. His forehead's freedom from the arrow caused Italy to slump down in relief. He even heard Romano sighing in relief. The boy muttered something under his breath – a question? Italy was never great at reading lips or body language like his friend Japan but he could see the boy having a dilemma. Or maybe he wasn't? The covered face didn't really tell anything.

"You are telling the truth." It was a statement, yet the boy's voice still held doubt and suspicion.

Romano obviously sensed this. "Of course we are. What other purpose would lying give?"

Italy's brother then started to stand up but then stopped as the cloaked boy then pointed the arrow towards him. Italy stiffened in fear as Romano hurriedly raised his hands before yelling out more foul words to the young boy.

"Oi! I already said that I don't fucking know where the fucking hell we are! So how about you put that blasted arrow down so we can talk about this properly, like civilized people, eh, you brat?" Italy thought it was kind of ironic that his brother was the one yelling for a civilized conversation when he started arguments with Germany any time he got. Honestly, why did Romano hate Germany so much? Germany's so kind, tough, strong, understanding —

"But who ever said I trusted you?" the boy spat out. But then, to Italy's confusion, he looked at his side – to thin air. He then muttered a few words and Italy caught, "…but Dion… Faire, you too?"

Oh dear, they found another England. Wait, that was mean. Just because England could see weird things that anybody couldn't see doesn't mean he's bad. Okay, Italy had to take back that point. England was, and still is, scary. He wasn't as scary as before (he'd heard stories from his Big Brother France and _fratello_ who heard from Big Brother Spain… also, World War II) but Italy was still terrified of England.

Anyway, the boy was probably – okay, maybe he was crazy. A little looney in the head yes, but that wouldn't stop him from being adorable! Maybe. Italy wasn't sure if children who point arrows at you are still cute. Ah, but he did do that to Turkey when he was still the Ottoman Empire… and he was still cute, right? He should really ask Turkey.

"Stop ignoring us dammit!" Italy's wandering attention span then gathered on Romano once more. His _fratello_ was already standing while the cloaked boy was still muttering to thin air. But a few seconds later, the boy gave a sharp turn (he probably glared under that hood) towards Romano before looking back to the empty, thin air.

Italy then said a few faint words, "Ah, please _ragazzo_ , don't hurt us…"

The young boy stopped mutterring and turned towards him. Italy started in his position while Romano gave a low growl of annoyance. "I am not going to hurt you. I am…" he gave a small pause, as if hesistant to say his next words, "…convinced that I can trust you two."

Of course, his _fratello_ , being himself, had to make a remark – a negative one, "Doesn't sound like it."

"Who is the one holding the weapon here, mister? You?" The boy stepped towards Romano, his height only reaching until Romano's waist. Romano gave a smug smile as he stared the boy – or rather, his hooded face. Understanding why Romano was acting like this made Italy sigh about his _fratello's_ small bits of pettiness. The boy obviously noticed the reason why the older Nation was giving him a smirk and gave a small growl, which sounded adorable, in Italy's opinion.

The staredown between the adult and the child continued on for who knows how long.

"Ve~ P-Please stop glaring at each other… maybe we can talk this out?"

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 **A/N:** A personal sort of headcanon I have is that Italy has a bad attention span because he tends to ramble internally... just like how he rambles to people. I don't know but it really just seemed like it fit his personality. Anyway, warnings for next chapter **: Romano PoV = Italian and English cursing. A lot of it.**

 ** _Italian Translations:_**

 ** _Fratello = big brother (can also mean brother in general but I'm using fratello for Veneziano refering to Romano and fratellino - little brother - for Romano refering to Veneziano)_**

 ** _Ragazzo = boy_**


	3. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA**

 **Warnings: Cursing. A lot of it. In both Italian and English. Also, gratitious Italian. And as always, historical inaccuracies.**

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 **Timetalia — Memory Lane**

 **Chapter 2**

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"Ve~ P-Please stop glaring at each other… maybe we can talk this out?"

Ignored silence.

"W-We can settle the matters easier if we just talked? Ve~?"

The green-cloaked brat stopped his hidden glaring – damn hood – and scoffed, "Right, tell that to your brother."

Italy Veneziano looked pleadingly at his dear _fratello_.

After a few seconds of silence, Italy Romano clicked his tongue as he removed his gaze from the little brat, ignoring the brat's smug snicker. His _fratellino_ , even as stupid as he can be, that _idiota_ , did have a point. A civilized conversation would make more progress than the staring contest they're currently having. Which he did say earlier. Like, _cazzo_ , didn't they hear him the first time?

But what did he expect? Of course the little brat would rather listen to Veneziano, his kinder, better, perfect _fratellino_.

 _"Vaffanculo, stronzino,_ " Romano muttered under his breath, quiet enough for the two to not hear. He couldn't afford to have another affronted look from Veneziano about his language and worse, the little cloaked bastard knew Italian and Romano couldn't curse him unlike with his fellow Nations.

Well, that's ignoring the fact that most of the Nations, especially the European Nations, knew each others' languages to a certain amount and many of them – and most likely all of the European Nations – could probably understand his Italian cursing. Tch, well they were old anyway so if there was a Nation – including those little brats, the Micronations (shit, if he and his _fratellino_ are in this middle of nowhere, then that brat Seborga's running the country. _Cazzo_.) – older than a century who's still so sensitive to cursing, he'll call bullshit. Heck, even Veneziano and that tomato bastard aren't that sensitive.

But unfortunately, he's stuck with a brat who's probably just single-digits in age. And no way in hell would he curse in a language that's not Italian (or English – stupid tea-drinking bastard making his language the fucking _lingua franca_ of sorts. How the hell did he even get them, especially some Nations like that perverted bastard, to use it?).

And yes, he was also ignoring the fact that he already cursed in front of the boy and will continue to do so out of habit, making this thought process of his quite useless.

"Ah, so we can talk now?" Veneziano flashed them a smile. Romano could see the fear behind that. Veneziano may be an oblivious happy-go-lucky idiot but Romano thought that even his _fratellino_ knew how to read the atmosphere.

"Great!" Veneziano exclaimed while looking – if that close-eyed stare can be considered as looking – at the brat who now lowered his bow. A fucking bow, how medieval, really. "Hello _ragazzo_! I'm Feliciano! Do you have pasta?"

At least the _idiota_ had the rationality to use his human name…

Romano slapped his forehead as he sighed in exasperation. Right, Veneziano couldn't read the atmosphere but could only sense danger, such as an arrow pointed to your face. His moment of 'reading the atmosphere' earlier was probably just him fearing for his _fratello's_ life. Not that Romano appreciated it! And no, he was not blushing at the thought that his stupid _fratellino_ actually worried about him.

"You're blushing, you know that?" the brat said, obviously to Romano.

Romano grumbled as he felt more blood rush to his face, " _Va' all'inferno._ "

"Romano, be kind." Veneziano's patronizing tone didn't help. "Sorry little _ragazzo, mio fratello_ is just really like this."

"I could glean that from our… interactions," the kid muttered then gave a smile to Veneziano, as far as they can see from under that blasted hood anyway. "I wonder how can you tolerate him."

"Hmm…" Veneziano didn't speak any further but only kept that stupid look he had.

In annoyance, Romano crossed his arms. That stupid Veneziano, siding with a stranger. Tch, he was always like that… why wouldn't he support his _fratello_ … "Anyway, can you just remove that damn hood? It would be really easier to talk to you without it, because you know, we can actually see your fucking face?"

"Demanding," the brat probably rolled his eyes under that. "Fine." His small, sort of chubby hands grabbed his hood and he pulled it off, revealing his visage.

Italy Romano felt his mind stop completely as he saw the brat's face. He had messy, almost spiky, dirty blond locks and fair-colored skin common to those of them Europeans. The brat's eyes were also a bright, almost emerald green. But that wasn't the thing that got him – it was the fact that the kid had thick eyebrows like the tea-bastard's.

Why does the little brat look exactly like England of all the motherfucking holy people?!

"What. The. Bloody. Fuck." Oh great, he better not turn British now.

Meanwhile, his _fratellino_ , Veneziano had a more… child-friendly reaction. "Eh?! England?!"

The England-child-look-alike narrowed his eyes. "England?" He crossed his arms. "I do not know an 'England'. I am called Albion."

No, Romano did not remember adult England's terrifying glares. And no, he wasn't intimidated because the kid looked too much like the grumpy tea-bastard with that look. No, he was not.

"Eh? Albion?" Veneziano looked clueless, fucking _bastardo_. "I think I've heard of that somewhere before." He turned his closed eyes to Romano. "Do you remember, _fratello_?"

"How the fuck should I know? I'm not a telepath, my dear pasta-loving _fratellino_." Romano merely rolled his eyes. "Oi, you brat. Where in the world are we? Can you just answer that question I've been asking since like, earlier?"

The brat's eye – an eerily green similar to the tea-bastard's – twitched and his grip tightened on his bow again, making Romano tense up. "You are trespassing in my land, _irrumator_."

Somehow, the last word was Latin instead of the Italian the kid spoke. But Romano didn't really focus on that point. The brat was calling him a bastard - a jerk! Damn that brat. Romano felt his mouth open and he yelled, " _Vaffanculo, moccioso!_ "

" _Fratello!_ " Veneziano exclaimed, affronted. Oh yeah, he forgot that while Veneziano's not that sensitive to cursing, _vaffanculo_ was still a strong word. Even so, Romano wouldn't admit that he was wrong. Fuck no, he won't.

"This is becoming a waste of time," the brat rolled his eyes. "We are getting nowhere. Anyway, as I have introduced myself – my name is Albion – may I ask for your names? Well, I know that this much, _much_ nicer brother is Feliciano, but you?" He raised an eyebrow at Romano.

Romano scoffed. "Stop that passive-aggressive bullshit," he muttered under his breath. "Name's Lovino, and you better remember it, brat."

The brat's eye twitched and Romano felt a little happiness at seeing it. Brat deserved it, hah. As for Veneziano, he better stop looking at him with that disappointed face of his or he would honestly punch the bastardo's face. Like, where was the justice in this? Support your _fratello_ , not some unknown brat!

And Romano was once again mad.

The brat decided to reply, "I will remember it the day you start remembering mine, insolent fool."

"Damn. You." Yup, his patience was totally gone.

" _Fratello_ …" Veneziano's patronizing tone made Romano send his _fratellino_ a glare. "Stop provoking the _ragazzo_ so we can know where we are, okay?"

Romano did not pout – no he did not.

"So _ragazzo_ ," Veneziano faced the brat. "Would you kindly tell us where we are?"

The brat sighed, as if tired of answering this question. Well, Romano was tired of asking it. For fuck's sake, they just wanted to know where the hell are they! Are they even still in Europe? Well, if they judged the England-look-alike, they probably were somewhere around the UK's place. Maybe an old colony of the tea bastard's?

If so… then wouldn't that make this kid a Nation? Or maybe a Micronation like his other _fratellino_ Seborga?

Romano hoped that he wasn't.

"I have said it before, and shall repeat it again." The brat looked at them with those eerie England-green eyes. "You are tresspassing into my lands. My land, Albion."

"So you're a Nation then?" Veneziano asked in a curious tone.

The brat gave him a smile – the _bastardo_. Obviously, he really liked Veneziano better. Hah, Romano wasn't even surprised at this point. Everybody loves Veneziano after all, even England-look-alike brats that just pointed a bow at him earlier. Fuck life.

"Yes, indeed I am. I am Albion, the Nation of this land." He then gave them a curious look. "Are you travelers from the continent? Why did you come here, humans?"

Romano was not a human! But it was better to make use of this misunderstanding because Romano still did not know where the flying fuck are they.

Anyway, he needed to get information first. Nations were generally kinder to humans than to their fellow Nations. (Well, some Nations like Romano were just nice to their own people.) After all, humans were the reason for Nations. They were their lifeforce. But not only that, humans were also their reason for living. While Romano may be a coward, he would still fight all his wars and suffer for his people. After all, the smiles of his people make everything worth it in the end.

Going back with his plan to get information by pretending to be a human, Romano decided to speak up before his _fratellino_ had any genius ideas.

"Yeah, we came from the continent." He tried to signal Veneziano with his eyes to go along with the flow. The signal got sent obviously, as he and his _fratellino_ were Nations of the same country and therefore connected intimately and could technically interact with just body language.

"Yup!" Veneziano gave one of his sunny smiles. It reminded Romano of the tomato bastard. "Unfortunately we got lost so could you kindly help us?"

The kid paused, as if thinking of a decision then turned to the air at his side. "Dion, Faire, what do you think?"

Oh great. The England-look-alike was also delusional. Insanity must run in the family. Or maybe it was those eyebrows that made them insane... hm, that was a thought.

After a few seconds of the kid listening to, what else, thin air _of all things holy_ , he looked back at them and said, "Well, I do not know how else to help you but… maybe you would be fine with me bringing you to the closest civilization?"

Veneziano nodded. "That would be great!" He then looked at Romano. "See _fratello_? We can finally find out where we are!" His smile was so bright that Romano wanted to look away.

"Yeah, that's great." And yeah, it was. Jesus Christ, they were stuck here for like, forever.

The kid sighed while muttering audibly under his breath, "First I had to escape from captors, then the soldiers and now I have to guide two frustrating humans..."

And so started their journey to the nearest civilization, with the England-look-alike (Romano refused to call him Albion) leading the way. On the way, Veneziano was admiring the scenery with a "Ve~" while Romano was just plainly frustrated with their situation.

" _Cazzo,_ why couldn't someone else be in this situation like that obnoxious burger bastard and me be in my house, having a _siesta_? Life is fucking unfair," he muttered under his breath.

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 **A/N:** I am **_not translating those Italian curses_** , lol. Anyway, Romano PoV is very fun to write. I may have went overboard with the cursing but the curses felt purely natural to be where they were in this PoV. (I think part of that is because I swear like Romano). Sorry for those sensitive to cursing...unfortunately for you guys all Romano PoVs will contain cursing, the amount varying on the situation. In this case, Romano is irritated and just wants to know where they are and mini-England is pushing his buttons.

On another note, guess whose PoV will be in the next chapter? And can you guys spot the weird inconsistency in this chapter? All I can say is that inconsistency (that looks like an error by the way) is foreshadowing.

EDIT: Lessened some of the cursing because it could've been reaching M-rated levels (?).

 **P. S.** Thanks for the fave, follow and reviews!


	4. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA**

 **Warnings: gratuitous German, historical inaccuracies, minor artistic license on Roman solders, OCs, cursing at the end**

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 **Timetalia — Memory Lane**

 **Chapter 3**

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His mind felt blank, empty; his body floating around in the darkness. He did not know what was happening nor why was it happening. It was disconcerting, the feeling as if he had his soul split from his body then put back. Did they even have souls? He did not know. All he currently knew was that he was feeling something uncomfortable, as if he had something similar to vertigo. But his head wasn't whirling in nausea. It was just… there. Floating. Its lightness making his sense of balance odd.

Then flashes of images manifested from nowhere. A room that was familiar. One that they used for their meetings, in fact. Eight – no, nine more people were there. There was something… a sense of excitement. Something…

Then something hit his body and his eyes opened wide open, his body then lurching forward as he coughed. That something hit his stomach and it hurt. Well, not that he wasn't used to getting hurt. He had to, given their roles in the world.

"Oi, you're awake."

Germany had to cough a few more times before looking up at the man who spoke. Said man was also most likely the one that hit him. That thought made him frown. However, what mostly caught his attention was the fact that the man was speaking German, his language.

He decided to ask in Standard German, "Who are you?" He knew that this man wasn't one of his people. Nor was it one of Switzerland's, for the dialect did not seem to be Swiss German. It didn't sound like Austrian German either. But he needed to hear the man speak more before he could confirm. For now, he couldn't get a good view yet, as his eyes were still adjusting to the light. "Where am I?"

His eyes finally adjusted to the light, Germany finally got a good view of the man. The man was actually a soldier. But it wasn't the kind of soldier that Germany was used to. It was the kind of soldier that his bruder, Prussia, seemed to tell him about when reminiscing about his old days.

The man wore armour that seemed to be made from strips of iron and leather. He was wearing a metal helmet and carried a rectangular shield that looked like it was made of wood and leather. For footwear, he wore sandals with iron studs. There were two weapons on his body, one was a sheathed sword and the other was a javelin that he held in his hand. Germany deduced that the javelin's blunt end must've what the man used to hit him awake.

The armour looked familiar, but Germany's memory was still muddled not only from the sudden awakening, but also from the days of constant stress as a Nation.

"You are in the lands of Britannia," the man replied as he stepped back, giving Germany more space to breathe. "And I believe it should be I that should ask: who are you? What is you and your companion's name and what are you doing here?"

At his words, Germany frowned. Britannia? Did he mean Britain? But Germany was sure England and the rest of the UK did not have soldiers like this. And companion? What did the man mean by that? And now that the man spoke more, Germany confirmed that the man was speaking Standard German, and that made Germany a little unsure.

For now, Germany decided to play safe. "My name is Ludwig and I am a traveler." He then decided to ask about the companion in a fashion where he wouldn't sound suspicious. "And my companion?"

"Your companion is with the others." He looked behind him, where Germany saw a small congregation of more soldiers, about four. "Oi, Ahenobarbus! Flavius! Calvus! Tacitus!" What odd names. "Bring the other man here!"

The four men saluted in affirmation.

While the men were getting his 'companion', Germany decided to get a view of his surroundings. He noticed that they were not in a civilization but rather in a forest. It made him frown as he did not know why or where he was there. The last thing he remembered was that he was in a World Meeting… but he couldn't even remember the details of the meeting itself.

It made Germany's frown deeper. He always remembered to keep track of the meeting and all the topics, even the ridiculous ones that were usually brought up by America. For him to forget what happened in the World Meeting and somehow end up in a forest with medieval soldiers? Impossible. But it happened. Germany rubbed his forehead in exasperation. There was that business with the Pictonians before and now another mysterious occurrence. Why do they, the Nations, always get into this kind of mess? Well, it was better them than their people but still...

Germany refused to even think of the fact that he may possibly be the only Nation in this mess. As Italy told him before, think positive. Or was that him quoting Spain?

With a loud grunt, the men finally dragged the person they called his companion. Germany's eyes widened as the 'companion' was indeed actually someone he knew. And someone who would not appreciate getting dragged and pushed to the ground.

His 'companion' still looked unconscious, his usually well-kept blond hair now a mess as well as his expensive clothes. Germany sighed as he knew that he would not like that and Germany did not want to face an angry France.

"So, he is your companion after all," the man from earlier said. "But, I do not believe you are travelers."

Germany tensed, but he tried to reply, "Why do you not –"

"Believe?" Germany nodded. "We know the fashion in the continent and in many places. Your outfits do not fit any of those. And I refuse to believe that you came here from somewhere else for you bear features of someone from the continent. Your companion looks like he is from Gaul, yet that outfit of his does not match of what I know of Gaul's fashion."

Gaul? Germany felt like he had heard the name before ( _most likely from Prussia_ ) but France looking like a person from Gaul? Maybe it was possible that the Nation of Gaul was France's parent? No, he couldn't make such conjectures at this point. For all he knew, he was in a different world or something. Wasn't America talking about that the other day with Japan?

Germany shook away those thoughts. First, he had to make up an excuse. He was in an unknown land and he didn't factor in their outfits. He was still wearing his standard military uniform while France was wearing his blue robe-like outfit. They were obviously suspicious, no matter what world or era he claimed to be a traveler. It was a stupid decision.

But just as Germany opened his mouth, a voice spoke.

"Where… am I?" It was France. But Germany found it odd that he was speaking in German. It sounded weird to his ears, hearing the crisp language of German with France's nasal French accent.

"Francis," Germany called to him using France's human name. That would make the recently conscious Nation realize that they were in the company of humans.

Fortunately, France got the hint and asked him, "Ludwig? Where are we?" The German still sounded weird. "A forest? Wha – What happened to my clothes! My beautiful clothes!" France then touched his hair, which had a few leaves on it. "My magnificent hair!"

"Francis, calm down." He did not want to deal with a hair-ruined France. Unlike Romano who was the same when any of his expensive designer outfits were ruined in even the smallest way, France had the ability to really beat him down. Although in all honesty, Romano's verbal attacks were not weak at all… how was related to Italy again?

Not that he could speak. Because, Prussia.

"Calm down? Calm down?!" France was slowly hyperventilating. "My beautiful golden locks are ruined! Ruined, I say!"

"We can clean it up later. For now, we're in a situation," Germany sighed. Why was always stuck with the most overdramatic Nations?

France threw his hands up into the air, "This is a situation!"

Germany gave another exasperated sigh. "Fine, I'll buy you the best shampoo later. For now, shall we stand up? Or do you want your trousers to be covered in more dirt?"

Hearing this, France immediately stood up, Germany following him. As they stood up, he heard chuckles and snickers and Germany suddenly remembered the existence of the soldiers. They were probably making fun of France and his overdramatics. Germany frowned at that and wanted to defend his fellow Nation, despite their differences.

"Huh, who is snickering there?" France finally saw the soldiers. But Germany did not expect his reaction. France's eyes bulged and he stepped back. "R-Romans!"

And then it clicked in Germany's mind. Right, the armor looked like Roman armor. But why was he in a land – Britannia, they said – with Roman soldiers?

"Oh? Seems like someone here's scared of Romans," one of the soldiers sneered. It was a man with a large brown beard.

Another one of the soldiers spoke up, this one was a bald man who wasn't wearing his helmet. "What, scared for your hair, pretty boy?"

"Worried for your pretty golden locks?" One of the men, who wasn't wearing his helmet as well and actually did have golden hair, spoke, his eyebrows raised. Meanwhile the one beside him, a quiet-looking man, chuckled.

Germany wanted them to stop because he could see France's hands clenching into fists. Germany did not want to see a fight. He also disapproved of the soldiers as they seem to lack discipline, compared to their presumed leader, the man from earlier.

And the man seemed to have the same opinion as him as he spoke, "Silence." His tone was harsh and stern, causing the soldiers to stand at attention. Perhaps they were well-disciplined. Germany's opinion of the man increased. He was able to silence his soldier with a word. Germany wished he could do the same to Italy, or better, Romano and Prussia.

The man then removed his helmet, revealed messy red hair underneath. "I apologize for their behavior. And as you have introduced yourselves, Ludwig and Francis, I shall introduce ourselves as well. I am Rufus. These are my men." He gestured at the four men. "Ahenobarbus is the one with the brown beard; Flavius, with the same golden hair as your companion; Calvus, who does not have hair – he's bald; and last but not the least, Tacitus. Tacitus is a quiet man hence do not expect him to reply other than via gestures."

Tacitus nodded, but he still looked like he wanted to give France a snicker and smirk. Germany had learned from experience with Norway and many other similar Nations that quiet was not equal to shy or kind. Tacitus' look didn't really affect Germany, although France raised an eyebrow, possibly challenging the Roman or was just offended.

"Anyway," Rufus coughed, "I shall ask once more: who are you and why are you here in the lands of Britannia?"

Germany and France glanced at each other. They had human names, yes, but Germany wasn't sure what to give as a reason to why they were there. After all, he himself didn't know how they were in this… Britannia place. His first attempt at making an excuse also failed and that's that. Germany honestly didn't know how to get out of this situation.

France seemed to have an idea though, as he started to speak. "Well, _Herr_ Rufus, my name is Francis Bonnefoy. And this is my companion Ludwig." He gave a flamboyant gesture towards Germany. "I am going to be completely honest, _Herr_ Rufus. We ourselves do not know why we are here in Britannia and why are we wearing these… outfits. You see, Ludwig and I had been old friends. I am a traveler from Gaul. I was visiting Germania at the time and well, I met _Herr_ Ludwig here. Ah, it was fate perhaps? Such is fate, allowing two people from distant countries to meet and have a friendship bloom between them! Isn't it interesting, _Herr_?"

Rufus nodded, seemingly captured by France's story. The other soldiers also looked curious, watching the man weave a fabricated story of "destined friendship" between him and Germany. Meanwhile, Germany didn't know whether to be surprised at France still speaking in German or be impressed at France's lying skills. Granted, lying was bad but it does help in crucial moments. Germany was certainly impressed that France was able to weave a story this quickly, even though some parts – particularly the last parts – were something Germany would do without.

But anyways, Germany listened carefully to France's story. After all, it would be better if they didn't contradict each other when asked. Perhaps when they're alone, Germany could go on the finer details of their backstory just in case they run into more Roman soldiers.

On the other hand, France was finishing up his story. "…alas his brother refused to come. Dear Gilbert was a nice man. I befriended him quite well, although not as much as Ludwig here." His face was so sad that Germany almost believed that he was saying the truth.

 _No. You're closer to my brother. And you two along with Spain give me and the rest of Europe, maybe even the world, headaches._

Despite those thoughts, Germany knew he had a role to play. So, he also forced a sad frown, remembering that he was supposed to feel sad about leaving his brother in Germania. Then again, if Germany had to leave the country, like for World Meetings, he felt more reassured when his brother didn't follow him. That was because Prussia meeting up with any other troublesome Nation – basically everybody – is chaos, headaches and Germany's need for a beer.

"…and so began our journey. However, perhaps we may had passed out." France gave a small frown. "I do not remember much of yesterday or even earlier. I do not even know how we got here and why I am wearing… these," he gestured to his currently dirty robes as if they were something reprehensible, "so… I hope that answers your questions?"

"I believe so, yes." Rufus nodded, yet his eyes narrowed. "You do not really remember how you got here? Both of you?"

Germany and France both nodded. Germany even added, " _Herr_ Rufus, I assure you I have good memory. However, I don't even remember what I was doing before."

Rufus gave them suspicious looks that were matched by his men. Germany didn't blame them. If he was in their shoes, he would've been suspicious as well. If they weren't, Germany would've been disappointed with their naivety. They were good soldiers – cautious and guarded. He approved of their wariness.

"Hm. I cannot say that I could trust you," Rufus muttered. "Therefore I believe I should take you to someone."

"Someone?" France interrupted. "Who?"

Rufus frowned. "An important man. Your… situation, if you are speaking of the truth, is curious. And also something we have to take a note of. I have to report it."

Ahenobarbus then spoke up, his voice gruff, " _Decanus_." Germany didn't recognize what word had just been said. "We can't abandon this mission..."

Flavius nodded. "Yes, Rufus. Remember what he said: _"This mission is of absolute importance."_. If we fail, who knows what would happen?"

"Another thing," Calvus added his two cents, "we can't just suddenly stop because of them. You do know that right, Rufus? Right?" His tone became quite harsh at the end, Germany noted.

Beside Calvus, Tacitus was giving Rufus a look that Germany couldn't interpret.

"I know." Despite his tone, Rufus' face didn't show any signs of looking troubled. "But the rest of the _contubernium_ is also out searching. I suppose we could – "

"Rufus!" Calvus hissed.

Flavius then poked Calvus at the side with the blunt end of his javelin. "Calvus, respect."

Calvus gave the golden-haired Flavius a dark glare, his blue eyes narrowing. "Respect? Sure, I will give Rufus respect if he stops daddling around! I don't even know why we picked him as _decanus_ if he keeps being indecisive like this." He clicked his tongue.

With those words, the rest of the men except Rufus gave Calvus a harsh glare. Germany saw France slowly becoming uncomfortable with the tension. Germany didn't really blame him. The tension was so thick that he could shoot through it with his pistol. He didn't also approve of what was happening. From what he could see, despite not understanding the terms used, Calvus didn't approve of their leader. But so far, all Germany could see is that Rufus was a good leader who could keep his men in line. He didn't see why Calvus disliked him.

"Calvus." Rufus' tone was cold as his eyes stared at Calvus. "I understand if you do not appreciate my ideas – or rather, just appreciate my presence in general. However, I suggest that you keep yourself disciplined. You're acting like a petulant child that can't let go of a grudge, not a soldier." The sharp words looked like they physically cut Calvus, who looked hurt and offended at the same time.

"Fine." After that, Calvus' expression morphed into stern blankness. Germany felt that it looked like an odd mix of his and Japan's expressions.

Rufus turned back to Germany and France. Both of the Nations were looking quite awkward, their eyes not knowing where to look and their auras screaming awkwardness. After all, the change from what to do with the two of them to in-fighting was so sudden it felt like whiplash. Germany merely tried to look normal and he could see France doing the same.

"I apologize. As for what actions we are going to take – "

But before Rufus could speak, Germany heard rustles of leaves and voices. He saw the soldiers stand on guard and he himself did so as well. France also looked wary and cautious. But as the rustling got closer, Germany recognized the familiar voices, even though they were speaking in his native tongue. He felt his body subconsciously relax, his guard lowering.

"…and so _bruder_ smashed the pasta into his face!"

"He what? Hmph, as expected of you... you crude man." The second voice was unfamiliar, yet it sounded childish.

"What the fuck do you mean by that, huh, you brat?! Besides, that potato bastard deserved that! No wait – he didn't deserve it!"

"Have you finally accepted him _bruder_?"

"Hell no! What I meant was that it was a complete waste of pasta! That fucker didn't deserve that plate of pasta! I should've shoved a bowl of potatoes to his face instead. Shitty potatoes to his shitty face – hah, now that's better!"

"Ehhh?! You're right, _bruder_! It was a waste of pasta!"

"Aha, you finally get it _bruder_!"

"…I'm surrounded by fools."

And when the three people went into sight, a small smile appeared on Germany's face. Well, perhaps he and France weren't alone in this after all.

"Feli?" He made sure to say his human name.

Bright eyes – recognition. "Ludwig!"

* * *

 **A/N:** As said in prologue, NO PAIRINGS. The last part is merely reuniting friends after a terrifying (in Italy's case) scenario. There's no GerIta romance here. Just GerIta bromance (aka platonic friendship).

As for **historical info**... the smallest group in a Roman legion is the contubernium. The contubernium is composed of eight members. Although some had also said that it's composed of ten. I'm using ten members for the contubernium here (for an even split of five-five for the search party) because a contubernium's leader, a decanus, means "leader of ten" or something similar. Anyway, from what I've looked up, a decanus is picked within the contubernium, which is why Calvus was saying something like "why we even picked you" stuff.

 ** _German translations:_**

 ** _Herr - mister (or in French, monsieur... which I was really tempted to type)_**

 ** _bruder - brother (or in Italian, fratello... which I was also really tempted to type)_**

 **P.S.** Thanks for the fave, follow and reviews!


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